and some one out of the gladness of his heart was executing a spirited
shake-down on the sidewalk--at six o'clock of a misty October morning.
Looking out, we caught an endearing glimpse of the life of the most
lovable of all professions. It was a theatrical company that had played a
one-night stand at the local opera-house the evening before, and was now
once more upon its wandering way. They had certainly been up till past
midnight, but here they were, at six o'clock of the morning, merry as
larks, gay as children, waiting for the Elmira trolley. Presently the car
came clanging up, and alongside drew up a big float, containing baggage
and rolls of scenery--all of which, to our astonishment, by some miracle
of loading known only to baggagemen, was in a few moments stowed away
into the waiting car. When the last property was shipped, the conductor
rang his bell, by way of warning, and the whole group, like a flight of
happy birds, climbed chattering into the car. "All aboard," called the
conductor, once more ringing his bell, and off they went, leaving a trail
of laughter in the morning air.

"'Beloved Vagabonds!'" said Colin, as we turned away, lonely, from our
windows, with, I hardly know why, a suspicion of tears in our eyes.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE SUSQUEHANNA


Here for a while a shadow seemed to fall over our trip. No doubt it was
the shadow of the great town we were approaching. Not that we have